


Follow You Down

by missmollyetc



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Homecoming, M/M, Reunions, sleepy marrieds in the early morning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 14:21:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9238832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmollyetc/pseuds/missmollyetc
Summary: Baze lives his life on a tether and with only mild complaining.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thefourthvine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefourthvine/gifts), [zorana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zorana/gifts).



Jedha City’s spaceport has cracks in the duracrete and air plants in the walls. Dust hangs in the curves of the Yingsa vines they keep by the air purifiers. Baze takes his Idents back from the yawning Rodian guarding the Arrivals section and stuffs them in the pocket underneath his gorget. He carries his single bag in his left hand and rests his right palm on the stock of his blaster as he walks. His feet hurt; the barge he’d shipped in on had buffers older than his karking grandmother and it hadn’t so much stuck the landing as kriffing skidded. 

Outside, the wind is almost nothing but a caress against his cheek and the morning sun has not yet reached the broken spire of where the Temple once rose. Baze breathes in deeply and turns his head into the direction the wind blows. Chirrut stands up from his crouch against the wall, stacked hands gripping his walking stick. He smiles, and Baze feels his own face relax, his lips curl. He’s let his hair go long, thick and wild; Baze will have to shave him again.

“You made it,” Chirrut says and walks towards him, pushing his stick in front of him. 

“I didn’t tell you when I was coming back,” he says.

Chirrut tilts his head up to the blue morning sky and clicks his tongue, still smiling. “The Force is an excellent messenger,” he says.

“And what does the Force tell you I am thinking right now?” he asks, and spits to the side.

Chirrut laughs. The tip of his stick hits Baze’s boot, and then Chirrut’s body is against his own. Chirrut leans in, forehead slipping down Baze's temple, and Baze can feel his sharp grin against his skin. 

"I'm filthy," he mutters, and feels the street grit in the wind plastered over every exposed inch of his ship-dry skin. Chirrut laughs, too low for anyone else's ears, and Baze feels the flush build beneath his skin. 

"I know," Chirrut says, and brushes his lips across Baze's cheek. "Come inside, and I will get you clean again.”

If it were possible, the sudden surge of his heartbeat, and the heat it brings with it, would have set Baze’s suit on fire. Chirrut’s kisses have always done this to Baze, and he knows it. While he is still struck dumb by the feel of Chirrut’s calloused hand in his own after so many weeks of gripping nothing but his blaster, he lets Chirrut lead him through the streets from the spaceport to their home, surefooted and confident as Chirrut has always been. The tea shop on the corner is already open, and the twi’lek owner laughs when they walk past her. 

“Good morning, Torima! May the Force of others be with you!” Chirrut calls out a hello as if they were young men again, late for their meditations as usual, and cannot stop.

“May you reveal the Force within yourself!” Torima responds as they pass, and Baze bows his head.

He follows Chirrut down the alley and into their home; their fingers slide against each other as Chirrut lets him go. Baze hears the click of his stick against the wall, and then the soft unlatching of Chirrut’s echo locator as he takes it off. Baze secures the lock pad of their door and sets his blaster rig into the cupboard they use as a rack. He removes his gorget and gauntlets, and then drops his cuirass against the wall. His shirt sticks against his skin. Chirrut puts his hands on Baze's shoulders, molds his body to Baze's back and moves with him, kissing his neck. 

"You taste like the sea," he says and Baze ducks his head. His cheeks feel hot. 

"It was a Quarren transport." 

"What did the Force need there?" Chirrut wonders aloud. 

Baze grunts. The Force needs nothing, but it's too old an argument for tonight. Baze walks to the small bedroom, with Chirrut stepping on the backs of his feet. He lays down, face-first, and Chirrut presses him into the mattress. Their feet tangle together, almost but not quite dangling off the end.

"Sleep now," Baze says, turning his head against the soft silk of their blankets, recovered from a Temple storage room the Empire hadn’t burned. "Defile me later." 

Chirrut laughs into his shoulder and rolls off to rest at his side. "I intend to! Am I to ignore the gift the Force returns to me?" 

Baze sighs so hard he feels his belly shake. He wraps his arm around Chirrut and tucks him into his side. "Bantha stang," he mutters into Chirrut's head, the thick hair tickles his nose. 

"Hmm," Chirrut replies and kisses him again, at the base of his neck. Baze feels the heat of his skin like a wave as soft as Chirrut’s slowing breaths. His eyelashes brush Baze’s skin. The sun beams through the slats of their window’s shielding, and he watches its wavering progress until his own eyes grow heavy.


End file.
